


Such Great Heights

by evocativecomma



Series: I'll Be Up Waiting For You [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-05 10:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocativecomma/pseuds/evocativecomma
Summary: It occurs to Fjord--like it has almost every moment since they met--that he hasn't kissed Jester. Not just now, but ever, and that seems like a criminal waste, but also like something he can wait for. It's an inevitability as far as either of them are concerned, so they're willing to wait for it to be just right.Fjorester; 30 days of domestic fluff; part of a larger AU that's coming along.





	1. Waking Up Together

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided that I was put on this earth to create more Fjorester content, so here, for the month of December, is the [30 Days of Domestic Fluff Challenge](http://melonmachinery.tumblr.com/post/130275833173/30-days-of-domestic-fluff).

Fjord should maybe be even slightly alarmed that he's awake in a bed and a room that aren't his, but he can't bring himself to feel anything but warm and comfortable, even as he blearily tries to remember why he's in a king-sized bed with the softest sheets he's ever felt. Or why he slept with his shirt on, a habit he broke after he settled inland and stopped taking night watches. Just the feeling of waking at peace is a little strange, and the puzzle pieces are about to fall in place when Jester rolls over into him with a hum and sets them down herself.

Jester's still asleep, and she seems warmer than in waking hours; maybe it's because she's pressed against his side now, or because of the nest of blankets they're huddled under, but Fjord wouldn't put it past it just being a Jester thing, bringing more warmth into people's lives when they need it most. She smiles in her sleep, too, and lays a hand on his chest to hold on to the fabric of his tshirt. She doesn't take up as much space as he thought she would--no sprawling, no kicking, no stealing the covers. Instead she's curled into a ball beneath his arm, somehow careful with her horns even when unconscious; her head rests on the pillow rather than on his shoulder. Slowly, as gently as he can, Fjord brings his arm up and around to hold her close.He feels her breathing even through his shirt, and the soft blue wave of her hair tickles his uncovered arm. 

As he's beginning to think about running the fingers of his free hand through her hair, since the one holding her to him has become tangled in the strap of her nightgown without his express permission, one of Jester's catlike eyes opens and looks up at him. "Fjord," she purrs, sleepy but sly, "are you watching me sleep?"

He makes a noncommittal sound in his throat, shrugs with the shoulder she's almost leaning on so she bounces a little. "And if I am?"

"I mean, it would probably be cute or whatever." Jester sits up, stretching both arms above her head and arching her back in a way that makes Fjord's mouth go dry. "Are you hungover?"

Come to think of it, he kind of is, and last night's ill-conceived drinking contest comes to the forefront of his mind: him and Beau versus Yasha, and the two of them losing spectacularly. It's possible that Fjord was only in it to impress Jester, and it's more than likely that there's already footage--courtesy of Mollymauk--on her Instagram (hopefully the private one), plus the new Mighty Nein feed that Molly set up as a favor to Nott. He'd be embarrassed by his showing if Jester wasn't smiling at him so damn sweetly right now. He'd bear the loss and ten times the headache over again if it meant she wrapped her arms around him afterward and insisted he come home with her.

"A little," he admits, like it isn't bothering him more now that he's thinking about it. "Mostly I'm just thirsty." That, at least, is honest.

Jester closes her eyes in concentration and lifts her hand to his forehead. A rush of warmth floods through him and seems to linger in the tips of his fingers once it's passed through the rest of him; Jester's fingers brush down his face and neck, coming to rest on his shoulder with her thumb lightly stroking the worn fabric of his shirt.

It occurs to Fjord--like it has almost every moment since they met--that he hasn't kissed Jester. Not just _now_ , but _ever_ , and that seems like a criminal waste, but also like something he can wait for. It's an inevitability as far as either of them are concerned, so they're willing to wait for it to be just right.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, and the morning sun on her freckled face is one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

Fjord has to keep quiet for a moment or two to keep every stupid thing he might say inside his head, but eventually he manages, "Still thirsty," which he considers a victory because it is factually true and also not remotely a line of bad poetry about her eyes or her breasts.

"Well then." Jester shuffles to the edge of the bed, and as she's climbing off her nightgown rides up, up, up her thighs and Fjord is _not staring_ , he is looking at the ceiling and thinking about frigid seas. Jester winks at him when he lets his eyes move freely again, already pulling clothes out of her closet. "I suppose I will let you take me to breakfast as thanks for not making you take an Uber home. Not at the Nein, though, take me somewhere new today."

Fjord kicks the blankets aside and stretches, shocked by the chill of the wood floor under his feet; he throws what is supposed to be a quick look over his shoulder at her and gets distracted by the sight of her hopping on one foot and tugging on a long wool stocking with the other, the smooth blue of her leg disappearing under night-sky purple. There's a twinkle in her eyes when she looks up to meet his gaze. "That I can do, sweetheart. That I can do."


	2. Morning Routines

Fjord stumbles into the bathroom maybe a quarter awake if she's being generous, but all the sudden Jester is hyper-conscious of the trail of toothpaste working its way down her chin as she brushes, the way her uncombed hair is tangled around her horns, and just how blotchy her face is before she gets through her skincare routine. To her it's less simple habit than ritual, something almost as mystical as Caleb sitting down to pick languages out of the air; every step has a place and a purpose, and though she can add or subtract some things as needed, with each measured movement and press of her fingers she becomes a little more and a little less herself, armored and ready to go out into the world.

It's easier these days with no jet lag, no marathon shows or signings or people clamoring for her attention—those things are in her future somewhere, but despite how she approached the hiatus in the beginning, it's nice to take a step back: to work out without worrying about hair and makeup, to wear lumpy cardigans or sweatpants, to only put on her face when she really wants to. The whole thing has even become a small part of her devotions to the Traveler; it makes him happy to see her comfortable in her own skin, no matter how it comes about.

She's loudly gargling to the tune of "In the Hall of the Mountain King" when she realizes that Fjord is still just hovering in the bathroom door. He's not watching her like he does some mornings, with that shy and puzzled smile born of the general newness of this kind of intimacy between them. Jester almost wishes he was even self-consciously picking at the new growth of his tusks, just so she'd know what was bothering him.

"Fjord?" She's given him the side of the sink nearest the door for all of his things, and she scoots further into the bathroom in order to invite him in; he takes a few steps in and leans against the counter. "Did you have more nightmares last night?"

He finally looks at her, and she can't help it then, throwing her arms around his neck with a cry and burying her face in his shoulder. "Oh, Fjord!" She knew he had nightmares even when they were just running into each other for coffee at the Mighty Nein, just because he was so bad at hiding his exhaustion and general unease afterward, but it's another thing entirely to know she was sleeping deeply beside him while he struggled. He's pale under the deep green of his skin, and his eyes are ringed with shadows. Everything about him looks sunken this morning, and the dusting of stubble along his jaw does nothing to help.

Fjord brings his arms around her and holds her tight to his chest, resting his face against the top of her head and drawing in a deep breath that seems to invigorate him somewhat. When he pulls away, there's a small smile pulling at his lips, and Jester can see the barely-there hints of his tusks peeking out. "G'morning Jester. Sorry to worry you, I just… Yeah, I didn't sleep very well last night."

"I understand." Jester bumps his shoulder with her own. "Can I help?"

It's a moment of pride swelling in Jester's chest when Fjord gently chews his lip instead of picking at his teeth. "I don't know. I just don't feel much like myself this morning."

"I think I might be able to help? A little, maybe? But only if you want me to! And it's okay if you don't, I understand, it's kind of a personal thing, I just know the kind of things that make me feel better and I only thought that—"

Apparently she'd starting twisting her hands together nervously as she rambled, and she only realizes it because Fjord cuts her off by taking both hands in his and looking directly down into her eyes. "That's mighty sweet of you, Jester, I'd like that a lot."

"Okay, okay, okay, just…" She trails off as she pulls a handful of toiletries from shelves and cabinets, going through her mental inventory of tricks and feel-good strategies as she maneuvers Fjord into place in front of her and hops up to sit on the sink. He instinctively puts his hands on her hips to steady her; Jester tries not to blush with delight when he leaves them there as he comes to stand between her legs.

"First you need a shave, okay? You'll feel like a whole new man after."

Jester takes her time—obviously, because, like, razors and stuff, but she lets her fingers linger on the hinge of his jaw and tries to spot the precise place where resolute jaw becomes smooth cheek. She watches every movement of his adam's apple with rapt fascination, and when Fjord shivers with something that's definitely not fear as she draws the razor deftly up his throat she has to take a steadying breath of her own. She shows particular care around the scar across his mouth, even if she keeps having to scold him for twitching or smiling at her. Next comes a good face washing and some moisturizer, which she lets him do himself before pulling him back over between her legs and burying her fingers in his hair.

"Never," she says, as Fjord lets out a startled and clearly involuntary groan, "underestimate the power of a good scalp massage."

"Of—of course not," Fjord manages as he fights the urge to press into her hands like a cat.

At some point, Jester's ministrations shift from massage to combing his hair into place with quick flicks of her fingers, sweeping it back from his forehead and threading the perfect amount of pomade through it without any guesswork. He's in awe of her confidence and skill in what have always struck him as such small things, but as the knots in his stomach ease and his heart comes down from his throat, Fjord finds his perspective changing.

He's amazed by how much better he feels after such simple attentions, but Jester is still staring into his face, her lips twisted into a thoughtful pout until she finally blurts out, "Do you trust me?"

Before he has the chance to answer, she's turned to dig into the travel-sized makeup bag that always lives beside her toothpaste: for day-to-day essentials, he knows, and maybe someone else would have dread building in their stomach right now, but he does trust her, whether he got to answer or not, and he's watched her go through this process enough times to know that she knows what she's doing.

"I don't have any concealer in your shade," Jester says apologetically, like she could have predicted that she would need something deep green for her half-orc boyfriend's under-eye bags, "but it's not that big a deal, because I have a secret weapon!"

The laugh she lets out is far too mischievous for someone unscrewing a tube of mascara, but it lights up her face and makes her tail wiggle in delight; Jester's mood is infectious, and she has to scold him again to stop smiling so she can reach his eyes properly as she delicately applies a few swipes to each of his eyes.

"There!" She presses a quick kiss to the tip of his nose before bouncing to the floor. "Now you're perfect!"

And damn if he doesn't feel it; the person looking at him in the mirror seems completely different from the one who first shuffled into the bathroom. He wraps both arms around Jester's middle and presses a kiss to her shoulder. She smiles, but she's already turned back to her own morning ritual, so he leans back against the wall to watch her work her magic. "Thank you, Jester."

She catches his eye in the mirror, her devilish grin showing just a hint of fang. "Just wait until I teach you to contour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just for a little context, in this au, Jester is a mega-popstar on (involuntary) hiatus while she waits for things to calm down after she works a little too much mischief on another act at a festival.)
> 
> I hate the end but I'm making myself stop messing with it and go to bed. See you tomorrow!
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	3. Doing Laundry

There's something entrancing about Jester's ability to focus, even when she's just sitting on the floor sorting clothes. It's easy to watch her throw her whole being into her painting and her music, even her romance novels and netflix binges, but Fjord is starting to think he may be a whole new level of fucked when he realizes he's been distracted from his book and watching her for nearly five minutes.

She carefully considers each item in her hand, thinking about color and material and water temperatures, dry cleaning and how much she wears something, and then deftly flicks it into one of several piles forming around her. A vivid pink sundress hangs fluttering in the air for a long moment before drifting down into a nest of other delicates. Fjord flushes when he notices the neat collection of lingerie by her right knee, and then wonders why he's embarrassed, especially because he's been taking it off her more often than not these days.

Jester stands, tail swaying behind her for balance as she comes up with an armful of clothes that look…rather familiar, actually: a hoodie, a few flannel shirts, one of his only nice button-downs, a worn-soft t-shirt he thought he lost a week and a half ago, even a pair of sweatpants, all of them draped over her arms as she tromps happily over to the closet.

"Hey, Jester, aren't those mine?"

"Yes," she says, unconcerned and trying to flick the closet door handle open with her tail. "They don't smell like you any more, so it's time for them to be washed. Don't worry, I'll pick new ones."

"That's very kind of you." She gives up trying with her tail and shifts the clothes to one arm; his t-shirt slides from her grasp and she sticks her tongue out at it as she shoves the rest into his hamper. "I don't suppose you considered, y'know, washing them with your things?"

"Well, no. They're yours."

There's a certain sideways kind of sense to it, and he knows he can't win but he still adds, "Even though you've been sneaking your things into my loads every time my back is turned?"

Jester blinks at him, settled back on the floor in her kingdom of cotton and lace and silk, but then she just shrugs. "Eh. That's different."

Of course it is. "Of course it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today; used up too many spoons and still managed to get nothing done, but sometimes that's just life.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	4. Night In

"Hey," he says, and Jester wonders if this is just how things will be now, because she can't imagine a situation where he speaks and she doesn't shiver with delight—even if she should maybe keep the shivering to a minimum because she might lose a finger, seeing as she's slicing apples. Her tail flicks wildly as she tamps down on the bubbling delight inside her and, "Hey," Fjord says again, and, oh yeah, she should probably answer him.

"Mmm?" She glances at him from the corner of her eye, and that's probably a mistake, or she should have at least put down the knife first, because whatever he was going to say gets cut off by her quick, heavy gasp and the whimper that follows as she snatches her hand up and sticks her finger in her mouth.

He's at her side in an instant, cupping her elbow with one hand and already grabbing a clean towel with the other. "Are you alright?" He takes her hand in both of his and lightly presses the towel to the shallow cut along the pad of her finger.

"I'm okay, Fjord," she says, drawing out the vowels with a fond kind of annoyance, though she doesn't move to take her hand from him. "I keep bandaids in that cabinet."

"You know," he says, and there's a laugh in his voice as he wraps the bandage around her finger, "I was gonna suggest we skip book club tonight. You didn't have to injure yourself to get out of it." He presses a kiss to the tip of her finger, then to each of the others; the kiss on the heel of her hand gets a light scrape of his teeth, but it's not until her starts trailing kisses aimlessly around her wrist and forearm that she forgets whatever clever response she'd been thinking up.

"It will be such a shame for them to miss out on this pie, though," is what she comes up with, slightly dizzy, when he releases her a few minutes later. He's still got her backed up against the kitchen counter, overwhelming her with his presence, so it's not a lot of freedom.

Fjord looks thoughtful for a moment, and Jester can't tell if he's thinking about book club or if he's considering the line of her collarbone—but she knows which one she wants it to be. "We can take it to them tomorrow. After all, you're hurt."

Jester rolls up on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth as the shiver rolls through her again; she can feel it dance from her lips to his, and Fjord is somehow suddenly pressed closer to her.

There are dishes to be done, and they haven't even finished the pie filling, and both of them actually managed to read the book for this month's gathering, but none of that really matters; they're too busy trading shivers and dancing in the dim kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day behind now because yesterday I had a migraine so bad I could barely speak, but I'll get caught up in the next couple days, which means you'll have a two-chapter day to look forward to sometime soon! I hope you're having as much fun reading these as I am reading them.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	5. Nighttime Routine

Music is already blaring by the time Fjord shoulders his way through the door and drops his bag; he hasn't worked a late shift in a while, since he actually had something to go home to (and he hadn't missed Vandren's muttered, "Finally," when his evenings with Jester became an obviously regular thing), but he wasn't the kind of person who would make Rickard miss his daughter's recital because no one would cover his shift. He'd texted Jester a few hours ago to let her know he'd be late and not to wait up, but tonight it seems like her odd hours are in his favor, because she hasn't gone to bed yet.

He has his own playlist on her phone, but his actual music library has been banned from the bedtime dance party since the first Little Sapphire song popped up on shuffle. (She'd practically thrown herself at him from across the kitchen, shouting, "You liar! You said you didn't know who I was!" Despite the thrashing of her tail and her half-hearted jabs at his chest, he loudly maintained his innocence; just because he knew who the Little Sapphire was didn't mean he knew _she_ was the Little Sapphire.) Tonight, though, like most nights, it's Jester's music running through the house, and she's standing at the sink, up to her elbows in sudsy water, belting out an aria from one of her mother's most famous roles.

("I'm in this one!" she'd announced the first time they'd listened to it together. "I don't have any lines or anything, 'cause I was only, like, six, but Mama was Vex'ahlia when they revived this show in Syngorn, and I was Velora! Basically all I had to do was curl up on stage and fall asleep. It was pretty great.")

Even on hiatus, no shows or albums or interviews to take up her time, she can't help making music; she can't live without it, no more than she can live without her painting or her devotions to the Traveler. It's been her way of ending her days since she got to Alfield, long before the two of them really got to know each other, and as time passes she has folded Fjord neatly into the ritual. He slips in beside her to begin drying the dishes she's already cleaned, humming along with the melodies he recognizes since he doesn't know the words.

They switch to some folk music from the Menagerie Coast once the dishes are done; Fjord switches off all the lights and makes sure everything they'll need in the morning is in its proper place while Jester double-checks all of the door and window locks. They hold hands on the way up the stairs, and hum together, bumping hips in an absent sort of dance as they brush their teeth.

Tonight Jester takes a no-makeup selfie for her twitter, and it sparks conversation about the side of Fjord's head, since she's kissing his cheek without showing his face. Laundry is sorted, lights are turned out, last text messages are sent. Before climbing into bed, Jester switches the stereo to her white noise machine, and the room fills with the gentle sound of waves on the shore.

Both of them relax in the dark, imagining the faint smell of salt between them as Fjord holds up the blankets for Jester to crawl under, pressed close in the shifting lights from street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote and posted this whole thing at work today since my boss said the perks of being a manager are that I get to be a little lazy during the off-season, because I work my ass off when things are busy. Cheers!
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	6. Shopping (For Needs)

"Remind me why I'm here again?"

"Because I'm cute." Jester hides her smile in the stuffed shark she's been carrying around at Fjord's long-suffering sigh. "And I could have brought Yasha, but you volunteered."

"Yasha doesn't have a pick-up you can haul furniture in."

Jester just shrugs. "You know I would have figured it out. The point stands: you volunteered to come shopping with me. I didn't even have to bribe you with meatballs."

The food is a perk, considering they've been wandering around this endless labyrinth of a store for hours now, and according to Jester, this is only the showroom. There's more downstairs, an endless wonderland of furniture and decorations and odds and ends that Fjord is honestly beginning to believe some people never make their way out of. He gets all of his furniture from the local community thrift store and he's happy with it, but now that Jester's moving out of Beau's place for something more private (and, he thinks with a burst of electricity in his chest, more permanent) she needs more than the luck of the secondhand gods usually provide.

He was more than happy to offer his truck and his company, but as they near the fourth hour of Jester testing couches and chairs, counting drawers and shelves, and living pretend lives in the elaborately staged rooms, Fjord is beginning to wish he'd let Yasha come instead.

"Fjord. Fjord. Fjord." He comes back into focus with Jester's hand wiggling in his face, her jewelry jingling merrily as she dances to get his attention. "Come try this bed with me."

She flounces onto the mattress, holding her hands out to him; it's a strange experience for him, but he's yet to find anything he can really deny her, even if it's stretching out on a strange mattress in an existentially disturbing furniture store. "Look," she says, resting her head on his shoulder and tracing one finger along the outline of the footboard--or lack thereof, he supposes, because it's open space about his height, framed in the same light, unfinished wood as the rest of the bed frame. "We can wrap lights all around that, they even have some here."

Fjord can so perfectly imagine Jester, wreathed in lights in this faerie tale bower, that it takes his mind a few moments to catch up to what's making his heart squeeze and do flips in his chest. We. And it's silly, it's only been a few months and they still have so much to learn about each other, but the thought of that we makes his blood sing, and it feels like the start of something, like they're moving towards a place music and clean air.

If he lets his eyes drift down to her face, dimming the world around them in all its lights and sounds, it feels like they might be there already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early post because I'm writing at work again. And what's more domestic than IKEA?????
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	7. Exercise

" _Oskar reached tentatively for Guinevere's hand, running the very tips of his rough fingers lightly over the palm of her un-calloused hand, both of them shivering at the electricity of even the barest contact. His green cheeks flushed dark, his topaz irises nearly swallowed by the depthless black of his_ — That's only forty-two, Jester."

Fjord takes the opportunity to roll his head from side to side, a relief from craning his neck over the worn paperback in his hands and trying to compensate for the sinuous motion of Jester's body below him.

Jester whines, the sound muffled by the yoga mat she's pressed her face into. "Isn't it close enough?"

"You said yourself that it had to be forty-five." Fjord dangles the book in front of her face. "Shame. Seems like we're getting to something mighty interesting." He begins to shift slightly, moving to plant his feet on the floor until the muscles of Jester's back tensed."

"Okay! I can make it to forty-five, just keep reading!" She presses her palms to the floor, flexing her fingers against the give of the mat, and Fjord can't see her face but he can perfectly imagine the determined fire in her eyes, the set of her jaw and the strands of hair clinging to her face and neck along with a sheen of sweat. Jester braces herself against the floor, first on her hands and knees, and then up on her toes, and Fjord rises with her, his place on her back setting him swaying not unlike the sea.

She lowers herself, arms shaking, presses her nose to the floor and then pushes back up. "Forty-three."

" _His green cheeks flushed dark, his topaz irises nearly swallowed by the depthless black of his dilated pupils; he looks at her, only at her._

_"'Guinevere,' he said, and the low hum of his voice reverberates through them both, echoing through a hollow in the woman's chest she thought might be empty forever."_

Jester's elbows wobble frantically on the press down, but she straightens them once more with a heroic exhale. "Forty-four."

" _Fire burned through Guinevere's veins, and she knew she was flushing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Oskar's hungry eyes traced the flush from her cheeks to the hollow of her throat, and down to the expanse of her chest exposed by her gaping bodice."_

Again they sink to the floor, held there for several seconds before Jester takes in a mighty gulp of air and forces it back out through her nose and she pushes up with all her might. She barely has time for a triumphant cry before she lets her arms give out, falling face-first into the yoga mat and spilling Fjord from his place on her back. He falls backward and hits the mat with an audible groan.

Jester, soaked in sweat and grinning from ear to ear, manages to roll onto her side and prop herself up on one arm. "So, Oskar," she says, and from where he's sprawled across from her Fjord can see straight down her shirt, "where were we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use this method of exercise bribery myself, where I do sit-ups while holding a romance novel, and I can read a paragraph each time I do the actually sitting-up.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	8. Wearing Each Others Clothes

"Jester, how do you want your eggs—" He might be having a heart attack. It's one explanation for the fact that Fjord quite suddenly can't breathe, his heart is in his throat, and he feels like he's been struck across the head with something heavy. Jester would be the first person to tell him that those aren't actually the symptoms of a heart attack, but he's not really paying attention to things like facts or science or the bounds of reality at the moment.

"What?" Jester stares back at him, a blush making her freckles stand out. "Do I have something on my face?" She brushes her fingers over her lips, feeling for dried toothpaste, but Fjord manages to at least shake his head while he stares dazedly at her.

She's wearing a white button-down shirt, and it's the oxford she bought him and taught him the name of, and it falls to the middle of her thighs, showing off the black leggings she's paired it with. Fjord spends more time staring at the delicate border of lace around her calves than he thought was possible, but the contrast of colors, the hints of skin through the threads, the defined lines of her muscles all leave him thunderstruck. It takes him nearly a minute to drag his eyes upwards to watch Jester reveal her forearms as she rolls up the sleeves, and then again to the expanse of blue chest showing where she's left it unbuttoned.

"You are burning the potatoes, Fjord." She neatly hip-checks him out of the way, grabbing both skillet and spatula from his hands and taking his place in front of the stove, stirring and scraping to salvage the breakfast he almost ruined.

"Sorry," he manages, even though there's still something suspiciously heart-shaped stuck in his throat and his mind is most certainly on other things. "You look lovely in that shirt."

She just shrugs. "You threw it on the floor this morning, and I couldn't find mine."

The rational part of him wants to point out that this is _her house_ , where she keeps most of her clothes and belongings, and that she can wear whatever she wants at any time. But then he comes to stand behind her, hands on her hips, and presses his face to her shoulder, and the material is cool and soft under his cheek, and he can see the wings of her collarbones shift and flex as she cooks, and Fjord summarily kicks the rational part of himself out the window.

"You're more than welcome to it, sweetheart," he says instead, and decides to buy at least three more exactly like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super cliche and Fjord has definitely stolen some of Jester's giant sweaters but I'm a simple girl with a weakness for ladies in big white button-downs okay
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	9. Nursing the Sick One

"Fjord, I need you to take this for me, please." He only groans and turns his face away, but Jester persists, one hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing his jaw in feather-light circles. "I know it's hard, but just do this for me and I won't ask you for anything else, okay?"

Fjord turns backs to her, head rolling on the pillow, and he opens his eyes enough that she can see a slice of gold underneath his lashes. "You're gonna get yourself sick, Jes."

She shrugs, and the lace of chains along her horns jingles as she holds the blister-pack in front of him. "So what? Are you going to take the cold medicine or am I going to have to hold your nose shut and wait?"

"I can—" He breaks off with a cough, and Jester brushes stray lock of hair back from his sweaty forehead as he says, "I can hold my breath for a long time."

"I know. But I am very patient. And I have my ways."

Fjord grimaces, but he's smiling, too, and it's the first real expression she's seen on him in two days, a thought that makes her throat tight with worry. When he sits up, she braces him with a hand between his shoulder blades, handing him the cold pills and steadying his arm as he drinks the entire glass of water she brought. He catches Jester's hand when she helps him lay black down and brushes kisses across her knuckles until his lips go numb.

Jester fixes the blankets around him and presses a kiss to his hot forehead; the fever is close to breaking, she's sure, but she can't help the knot of worry in her stomach. "Get some sleep, okay?"

His throat is raw from coughing and his voice comes out rough. "Will you be here when I wake up?"

Jester lies down on top of the blankets, pressing herself into his side and resting her head on his shoulder; she has her phone in one hand and she turns ever-so-slightly to smile up at him. "I'll be right here. I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a really shitty week and I'm further behind than I'd like, but I'm getting there. Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	10. Hair

"You know you have to sit still for me to do this, right?"

Jester scowls but settles back into her place on the floor in front of Fjord's sagging plaid sofa. Her knees threaten to start bouncing almost immediately, but she takes a deep breath and focuses all of her restless energy into the tips of her fingers, which she methodically presses together to the beat of the song she's been writing. She also resists the urge to press against Fjord's fingers in her hair like a cat, although she files the thought away for later. "Sorry. It's hard sometimes. But thank you."

  
She swallows the hiss as he pulls at her scalp too hard, but she can feel the apology in his gentle hands against her scalp as he tries to untangle the chains caught in her hair.

  
"Does this happen a lot?" Fjord's legs are warm against her back, knees bony where they press into her shoulders.

  
"It used to when I was little. And when I had really long hair sometimes I would dance or do a show that was so crazy that everything would get knotted up and it would take a long time for Molly to get it all untangled; we would drink tea and watch movies and gossip, it kind of became a thing for us.”

  
“How much longer was your hair?”

  
“It went down maybe to my butt? When it was at its longest. I kept it past my shoulders for a long time before that.”

  
“Why did you cut it?”

  
“I got tired of people touching it.” Fjord’s hands still immediately, and she can tell that he would pull them away entirely if he weren't hopelessly ensnared in jewelry and wild curls. “Not like this,” she says, and after a moment or two he resumes his work. “It’s different when there's always a million stylists messing with it and people pulling on it to check your mic and fans trying to grab you. Sometimes I just wanted to run to my mama and have her brush my hair, but we were in different cities and I was tired of other people touching it.”

  
Behind her, Fjord sighs; he must have finished untangling the chains because the pressure on her head has eased, but he keeps running the pads of his fingers over Jester’s scalp, occasionally scratching his nails along her hairline. They sit in silence for several minutes, and Jester wonders if he can hear her heartbeat as it hammers in her throat.

  
“I'm sorry,” he says finally. “I can't really understand what it's like to live that way, but I'm sorry. That must have been really hard for you.”

  
“I'm a very lucky girl,” Jester says quietly, reaching up for one of his hands. Lacing her fingers with his, she presses a kiss to the center of his palm; all the while Fjord’s other hand continues its lazy circles behind her ears and down the line of her neck.

  
“Thank you, Fjord,” she says, and he's not quite sure what it’s for, but he knows it’s more than pulling jewelry from her hair.

  
“Any time, Jester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, friends, guess whose week just keeps getting longer and also worse??? Posting from my ipad for the first time, so I hope the formatting's okay.


	11. Tea

**** Alfield is full of strange nooks and alleyways that lead to bizarre shops; yesterday Jester wandered into a black-painted brick building full of preserved skeletons, taxidermy animals, and all sorts of morbid, gothic curiosities: wet specimens, antique coffins, jewelry made of butterfly wings. She hadn't been able to find a proprietor, or any sign of one, but something about the place made her feel at home, and she knew she'd be back. Today, though, she's looking for somewhere to sit and people-watch while she finishes the lyrics she's been tweaking for Calianna's latest album. There's a tea shop Beau's been trying to get her to visit for a while now, a couple blocks down from the Nein; she knows she's seen it--she knows it's green or something, and she catches it out of the corner of her eye whenever she walks down the street, but it feels like it slides right out of her head once she's past.

That doesn't happen today. Today, as Jester approaches, the building seems to step forward to greet her; it's another painted brick affair, pale green with a mural across the side, cherry blossoms and mushrooms and bright-winged iridescent beetles all bleeding around to the shopfront. _Compose_ blooms up out of the artwork in solid letters, and something warm sings in Jester's chest; this place is inviting her in.

It's an invitation she accepts immediately, but she freezes as she pulls open the door, looking through the massive windows that take up most of the building's front.

There in the corner, in an over-sized bowl-shaped chair, is the half-orc from the Mighty Nein, curling over his phone and nursing an over-sized clay mug of tea. Fjord, he'd said, right before she'd dumped a glass of milk right down his front. Fjord, with a voice that made her shiver right down to her toes. Fjord, who is now staring at her hovering in the doorway like an idiot.

So she pushes brazenly into the warmth of the shop, setting the bell jingling. A firbolg appears from the back room, hair a shock of vivid pink that makes Jester smile and rush right behind the counter to wrap him in a hug. "Mr. Clay!" she says into his midsection. "It's so good to see you again!" And, she thinks but doesn't say, to have a buffer in this awkward encounter, finding herself comforted by his presence even though she only met Mr. Clay an hour or two before her disastrous meeting with Fjord.

"It's nice to see you again, too, Jester," he says, patting her head gently. "Let me get you a cup of tea—do you mind being surprised? I think I know what you could use today."

"I would _love_ to be surprised, Caduceus."

"Perfect," he says, shuffling into the back with a warm smile. Of course, now Jester is alone with Fjord, and she's starting to wonder if she should just go back to Beau's and work there, but then she'd disappoint Caduceus _and_ the Traveler _and_ probably her mother and definitely herself. So she stays.

"Do you mind if I sit down here?" When Fjord nods, Jester collapses into one of the big bowl chairs with a happy sigh, settling her bag within reach but not getting out her work things just yet. "I just wanted to say, umm…" she begins, and Fjord clicks his phone off to look over at her. "I just wanted to say that I'm very sorry about the other night and it won't happen again and I'd really like to maybe start over if you would be okay with that." 

The words spill out in a jumbled mess, and Fjord takes a long moment to parse it all before he flashes Jester a smile and slides his phone into his pocket. "I'd like that very much." He leans forward and offers his hand over the table between them. "I'm Fjord."

Jester's smile dazzles, and in a few months maybe Fjord will tell her the way his heart leapt in his chest at the sight of it, the way her joy left him breathless, the way looking into her eyes made him feel like he was standing at the edge of a tall building about to take a dive and facing it absolutely without fear.

In the moment, though, Jester reaches out to shake his hand. The contact sends sparks through both of them, and each tries to play off their sudden flush and stuttering breaths as nothing. "It's nice to meet you, Fjord. I'm Jester."

There's tea on the table between them, and it's perfect, and neither of them remember how it got there, but it doesn't seem to matter. Jester leaves her work for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I'm basically Ryan Gosling in La La Land going "I've got life on the ropes! This is fine!" except Christmas is coming at work and it's going to be a lot, so my life's narrator is going, "It was not fine." But I am still writing (even though this one stumped me a little), and I'd still love to finish it in 31 days! Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> (Also I'm basing this modern Alfield very much on my home city of Richmond, Virginia, which I adore. The store Jester visits at the beginning is based on a place called Rest in Pieces, which you can find on Instagram to check out their super cool stuff, and in-universe is also owned by Caduceus.)
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	12. Cooking Together

"I need the—" Fjord has one hand out to point when Jester puts the pot of salt in it. "Thanks."

"No problem." She shrugs and goes back to beating egg whites like she does it for a living; Fjord's getting winded just watching her, honestly. "You need more chocolate, by the way."

"This is what the recipe calls for."

She sticks her tongue out at him. "Recipes are for babies. Add some cinnamon, too."

"It's not in the—"

"You bake with your heart, Fjord! Recipes are like guidelines, but you can change them to make them better or experiment. It's like music or painting or just playing. You can do whatever you want—and I want more chocolate."

Fjord stares down into the bowl of dry ingredients he's mixing with such serious concentration that Jester wonders whether she just rocked his whole world-view. "We didn't…have a lot, growing up. Vandren did his best, but we had to stretch every little bit. We didn't improvise. We didn't even cook that many different things, because it was hard enough to make sure we had enough and we could make it all work."

Jester abandons her bowl of what is now meringue and presses herself to his side; she lifts one hand to the side of his face, rubbing her thumb through a streak of flour on his cheek. "We can make it like the recipe if you want."

He smiles down at her and presses a kiss to her forehead. "No, it's not that. It's just I hadn't thought about that for a while. I guess I didn't realize how much of my thinking was still there."

"So you'll add more chocolate?"

His laugh shakes them both as he kisses her nose, and Jester wraps her arms around Fjord's waist, hugging him so tightly she knocks the wind out of him for a moment. "Yes, Jester, I will add more chocolate. Cinnamon, too. Where is—"

"Bottom shelf of the cabinet on the right." She pulls away to check her meringue. Fjord jumps at the jolt of something smacking his ass, but by the time he turns to look, Jester is separating more eggs, tail waving innocently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyyyyyy two chapters today! 💕
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.


	13. Washing Dishes

Jester cooked tonight, so by all rights she should be crashing on the couch and heckling while Fjord does the dishes; instead she's up to her elbows in hot, soapy water, grinning whenever she passes him a clean plate to dry.

"You don't have to help," Fjord looks endearingly rumpled: damp spots spreading across his shirt, his hair mussed where he ran wet fingers through it.

"I know. I like it, though," Jester says, looking at him from the corner of her eye--there's a glint to her expression, a sort of barely-contained mischief that Fjord associates with Jester only, but he's used to it having a direction or a target, and right now there's only dishes.

She answers his unspoken questions with her hands and a muted green glow in the sink; the water begins to rill and shift like a stormy sea, and Fjord can hear the tinkling of silverware sweeping along the sink bottom. Jester lifts her hands from the water and holds one out flat. Her tongue pokes out from between her teeth, and she stares intently at her fingers as the droplets that were just about to fall reverse direction; each traces a path along the back of her hand until she flips it and brings the drops together into a shivering orb in her palm.

"The Traveler taught me something new," she whispers conspiratorially. "Jester, that is amazing." Fjord stares at her, starry-eyed, and doesn't hesitate to follow when she beckons him toward the sink.

Jester twists her fingers in the air and the center of the sink becomes a roiling whirlpool, bubbling and swirling. She grabs the sponge and tosses it into the tiny storm with a devious giggle. They both watch it bob and circle the edge of the sink until it eventually succumbs to the water's pull.

Finally Jester's twirling finger slows to a stop, and the sudsy water follows suit. Silverware settles heavily to the bottom and the sponge floats back to the surface.

Fjord keeps staring at his girlfriend, because he's seen her do incredible things--both magical and not--and he's constantly, likely permanently in awe of her, but the electric joy and pride coming off Jester in waves sets his heart to swelling. She's nearly bouncing with delight and a combination of emotions he can only begin to guess at. "How long have you been able to do that?"

She makes a show of counting back on her fingers. "Six hours and--" She peers around him at the clock. "--forty-two minutes."

"That long, huh? You've got amazing control already."

"Yeah, well, the Traveler gave me some pointers and then I took a bath so I could practice."

He gets briefly sidetracked by the thought of Jester in the bath, creating elaborate swirls and waves filled with perfume and bubbles. He can't help stepping toward her, the air going thick and charged between them as he wraps both arms around her waist and lifts her up into a kiss.

"Fjord," she giggles between breathless kisses, "we have to finish the dishes!"

"Alright." He sets her down reluctantly, running her tail through his fingers as she steps away and back toward the sink. She can't see the way he's still staring starry-eyed and lovestruck at the back of her head, but his feet feel glued to the kitchen floor; he just can't stop looking at her.

"Come help me dry, you goof," she says without looking up, and he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't abandoned it, y'all! December kicked my whole ass and I've spent most of January recovering from that, so my new goal is to finish this by the end of February.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://widowghast.tumblr.com)! Come yell about things with me. If you like what I do and want to help me keep doing it while also being able to feed my dog, there may be a link there for you, too.
> 
> Title from the song by The Postal Service, which fits this AU really well.


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